THE DEVIL'S BOUNTY
by Chick Feed
Summary: Set early in S4. There's a bounty up for grabs by anyone who thinks they can get the job done. The favorite plaything has been snatched away, and now Hell would like Dean Winchester back ...
1. Chapter 1

**THE DEVIL'S BOUNTY**

**_A.N. Hello to anyone thinking of reading this, welcome to my last Supernatural fic._**_ My first ever fic was a short one off entitled __**HANG ON**__. I have, I hope, brought things full circle by referring back to the occurrences in that story, within this one. It seemed appropriate._

_When I lost the impetus to write creatively, (in any form, not just these fanfics. Believe me, I'm still a supernatural girl), the following story was already near to completion. So, rather than leave it hanging around on my laptop, I've forced myself to complete it by way of saying _**_goodbye_**_**and thank you**__ to anyone and everyone who has ever taken the time to read anything of mine, to anyone kind enough to have put my name on their author alert or favourites list and, especially, to those of you who have become the familiar names I always love to hear from and chat to - __**You know who you are my friends :)**__ It's been a fun ride, but my stop's due shortly. __**Chick xxxx**_

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

**...**

Dean is still adjusting since his unexpected return from Hell, trying to regain his role on earth, and deal with the guilt which he has carried back with him. Being together again, it's what they both wanted, but the brothers are struggling to re-connect. Sam is happy he has his brother back, he is. It's just, there have been some changes, and Sam wants to keep hold of them. Bobby opens up his home once again to the boys he loves as if they were his own sons. He gives them the space that the brother's need in order to work things out between them, and he watches, worried, seeing how hard it is for the pair to re-unite. Under the same roof, they each do their own thing until, once again, they learn their lesson the hard way. They are stronger together. Separated, they each immediately become easier targets; and Hell would like Dean Winchester back.

xxxxXXXxxxx

**Chapter 1**

**...**

**S**ome people seem to be, as they say, born lucky. Whilst others wonder just what it was that they did in a previous existence that was so terribly wrong, it had led to bad luck dogging their every footstep throughout _this_ one? Some people turn out to be multi talented, multi skilled geniuses who lead humanity forward, on to the next big thing; or, alternatively, they are the brilliant minds with the talent to recognise the global screw up the next big thing will be, and try to warn the rest of us. Then there are their counter parts, those people whom, without the impact of any neurological or developmental disability, manage entirely of their own accord, to be the blunt knife that resides way down in the depths of the box, the sandwich that got left behind at the picnic. There are those that do, and those that think, those with aspirations, and those who haven't the foggiest what the word means, and would never consider trying to find out. There are the doormats, who wait to be walked on, by those who love to walk. There are those who spend their lives running, and those who are prepared to stand and be counted. There are lovers of self, and those filled with self hate. The doubters and the believers. The confident and the painfully shy. Those who manage to avoid any kind of trouble throughout their entire lives; and those who, with almost monotonous regularity, just keep walking smack bang into the centre of it, even when they are happily minding their own business.

Dean Winchester? Well, he had the misfortune to be one of the latter.

This man was the kind who would look at you whilst wearing an innocent _who me?_ expression, his green eyes open wide, and _swear_ to you that, when not actively hunting, during which the very nature of the game meant that one had to expect some minor _issues _on occasion; he never, _ever_, actively sought out trouble. Dean Winchester would _insist_ to you that it was, in fact, trouble which consistently set out to find _him._ Right at this very moment, he would be the first to acknowledge that he was stood, metaphorically speaking, right up to his chin in one huge stinky, mountainous pile of it, and with no one to watch his back.

"_Hey_! You three. If there's gonna be trouble, take it outside or I'm calling the cops. You hear me?"

Dean took a quick glance at the other customers in the bar. They were all silent, watching, waiting, none of them moving to stand at Dean's side. He had no friends in this place. He focused on the barman who was holding up his mobile as though it was a weapon, reinforcing his threat to dial 911. Dean looked the man directly in the eye's, hoping the guy would see that Dean was actually being serious, no matter what the light hearted tone might suggest.

"Go right ahead friend. _Please_. Make that call. _Really_, I think it's an _excellent_ idea.!"

The barman shook his head.

"Not unless I hav'ta. I got customers here I gotta think about. You three take your problem outside an' we're all good. If not..."

The barman jiggled his phone for emphasis. Dean rolled his eyes.

"_I'm_ a customer dude. An' I'd _seriously_ appreciate that call."

The barman stayed motionless. Dean sighed and swept his eyes once more over the silent patrons.

"Anyone here got a problem with the law, please make your way immediately and calmly to the exit. Thank you."

"_Winchester..._You've entertained these good folk long enough. Now, I'd advise you to do what the nice man asked an' step outside. You wouldn't want any of these innocent bystanders to get hurt, accidental like...Would you?"

Dean looked to the barman one last time.

"Thanks for the help dude. Any time you need me to return the favour, you just ask, ok?"

He was pleased to see that the barman at least had the good grace to look away in embarrassment. In resignation, Dean began to walk towards the exit, his two antagonists falling into step, one either side of him. Dean immediately felt like he had shrunk. He figured his escorts had to be at _least_ 6'10" each. Taking a swift glance up at each one of them, he mentally he marked one as Red, in view of the red stubble on his head. As to the second, broader one, Dean considered the wavy, white blond hair hanging nearly down to the guy's shoulders, and sensibly threw out Norma Jean, in favour of sticking with Titch. Of course, naming the over-sized would be trolls didn't alter his situation, but at least in his own mind he could now differentiate between the pair for himself.

From under the peak of his ever present baseball cap Bobby surreptitiously glanced over to where Sam sat, supposedly reading an old compendium devoted to stories and "eyewitness accounts" of the wild hunt. Bobby continued to, unobtrusively, look up now and again, noting how long the young hunter sat with the book open at the same page. Eventually, Bobby closed his own book and put it to one side. Picking up his tumbler of whisky, Bobby slowly sipped the liquor whilst openly watching Sam. Despite Bobby now not hiding the fact that he was observing the boy, Sam neither noticed or reacted. Bobby frowned slightly.

"Penny for 'em."

Blinking hard, as though tearing himself back from some other plain, Sam looked towards Bobby in confusion.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

Bobby shuffled in the old, overstuffed armchair.

"You were miles away kid. I was offering a penny for whatever it is that's got you zoning out like that."

Sam attempted a denial, insisting he was simply interested in the contents of the book he held.

"Don't give that bullcrap kid...You've been on that same page over twenty minutes now, an' I _know_ you ain't such a slow reader. So c'mon, what's wrong?"

Sam gazed at Bobby. To anyone who knew no better, looking at the older hunter, with his battered baseball cap, plaid work shirt, grubby tee, baggy jeans and hair that would appreciate a visit to the barbers, it would be easy to under-estimate the man. Those who didn't know him well would overlook how astute he was, forget his years of experience as a hunter. They would assume his fist couldn't come at you with the power of a sledgehammer, and they would be likely to give little credit to the quiet intelligence and vast breadth of knowledge behind those keen, observant eyes. Within the hunter's community, no one survived to be Bobby's age if they weren't _extremely_ good at the job. By the standards of Joe Public, Bobby nowhere _near_ qualified as elderly. But by Hunters' standards? Bobby was damn near venerable. Looking across at him now, Sam knew he had to form an answer that satisfied Bobby, or the man would never let things rest. Sam sighed.

"I'm not sure myself Bobby...I don't really think I know how to explain it."

"How about you stick to plain English? You know, make sure my old brain can keep up."

"Ok...Well...It's Dean...He's, not himself. He's...different"

"Sam. I hate pointin' out the blatantly bloody obvious but, your brother's not long since back from Hell. You know the place? Fiery pit of eternal damnation an' all? I'm not claimin' to be any great expert here, but I imagine that kinda experience's _gonna_ change a person. Has he told you anythin' about what he went through downstairs?"

"No. I ask, he says he can't remember."

"You believe him?"

"Yes...No..._Crap_. I dunno Bobby. And I hear what you're saying. I do, but, it feels like something more. He's _not_ the same. He seems more..._Vulnerable, _more needy_,_ since he came back. He's...Weaker? Or, maybe I'm wrong. I know _I've_ changed. I had four months of surviving without him Bobby, _surviving_, not goin' under. I was on my own, and becoming stronger for it. Before? I used to wish every day that I could be like him, that _I _could be that fast, be that good. Now though? I think... I think the time without him did something to me, did me _good_. Now, I think _I'm_ the better hunter. I think...No...I _know_ I'm faster, more focused, more..._Powerful_ than Dean is. Bottom line? He left, and I managed without him. I worry about him Bobby..._Really_ worry. And there's things Iwannaknow...Like, how the_ crap_ did he get out? And, _more_ importantly, how do I help him get back to _normal_?" The pair locked eyes with each other, and Bobby could clearly see the turmoil that raged within the young man.

" So ... Why didn't you go out with him this evenin' like he asked?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders.

"I dunno...I guess I just figured he needed some time alone, you know? Time to get the old Dean back, to find himself again. Does that make any sense?"

Bobby looked thoughtful.

"I guess. But, I'm wonderin', is that what _Dean_ wanted? Or did _he_ want to go out with his brother? Try to re-connect, convince himself all this' real? That it's not just some dream he's havin' about bein' back topside again? Did you even _think_ about that?...Sam?"

Sam turned his face from Bobby's questioning gaze, unable to maintain eye contact any longer. His voice, when he_ could_ finally speak, was soft, tremulous and uncertain.

"No Bobby. I didn't. I never thought about that possibility, and you know what? You're right. I _should_ have gone with him."

Sam stood up and reached for his jacket.

"Here lad, you'll need these."

Sam caught the car keys that Bobby threw to him.

"They're for the brown Ford Sedan parked in front of the workshop."

Sam paused to look at the man who was so much like a father to himself and his brother, and threw the man a warm and genuine smile.

"Thanks Bobby...For everything."

"Go on idjit...Get outta here, and make sure you don't wake me when you both get back tonight. I need my beauty sleep, unlike you two."

Sam's smile grew broader and he turned, leaving Bobby alone, setting out to join his brother at the bar Dean had said he was heading for.

xxxxXXXxxxx


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**...**

Hearing the front door close behind Sam, Bobby relaxed again into his chair, swirling his whisky around in it's glass thoughtfully. He understood where Sam was coming from when he said that Dean seemed different since the boy's return from Hell, but _really_? Chrissake...The boy had been to **_Hell_**! What Bobby honestly _didn't_ get, was Sam himself. For four months Sam had cut contact. Sam really needn't have been alone, he'd _chosen_ to be. Now he was back, and Bobby wondered what was it that was continuing to make _him_ so different to the Sam that Bobby knew? He'd expected Dean's death to hit Sam hard. What he _hadn't_ expected was the way that Sam was actually effected. Instead of crumbling into the hollow wreck of a man that Bobby had thought he would somehow have to glue back together, Sam had thrown himself wholly into hunting. He'd worked alone, rarely allowing himself to come into contact with other Hunters. He'd even cut Bobby out. He'd become more aloof, colder, more willing to take risks simply to make sure he took out his prey, rage seemed to have become his main driver. And the change wasn't restricted to the inside, externally Sam was different. He was close lipped, he rarely smiled, his physique had become harder, more toned and muscular. Sam was stronger, and he was _much_ more easily drawn into a fight.

And then there was this odd behaviour, ever since Dean had come back. Bobby could _swear _that there were times Sam seemed to actually _resent_ his brother's presence. He was quick to argue with Dean, often actually provoking it, and he sometimes acted as if Dean was an incumbent, as though Dean was slowing him down, holding him back from something. Bobby had seen the occasional look of hurt and confusion on Dean's face at Sam's attitude towards him, and there were a fair few times that Bobby had found it hard to keep his mouth shut, to stay under the brothers' cross fire.

Tonight Dean had wanted to go out, just him and his brother, have a couple of drinks together, maybe challenge one another to a game of pool at one of the bars in town. When Sam had refused to go with Dean, stating simply that he _didn't feel like it_, Dean had said nothing. Bobby had watched, furious on Dean's behalf, as the boy simply nodded, then turned and walked out of the house. Bobby sighed. That kid had _willingly_ offered himself up to Hell in order to get back the brother he loved. The same ungrateful little _jackass_ of a brother who, sometimes, acted like he wished Dean had _stayed_ in Hell.

Every day now, Bobby was finding it increasingly difficult not to follow through on his growing desire to feel the satisfaction of punching Sam's lights out. Only by way of trying to knock some sense back into that thick skull of Sam's, obviously!

Red and Titch had to let Dean go one step in front, in order to allow them all to get through the exit door. Dean tried to make use of the meagre opportunity afforded to him and, the instant he was through the doorway, he shot off like a jack rabbit. Unfortunately, he didn't get far before one of the two legged hounds brought him crashing to the ground with a perfectly executed tackle. Winded, Dean had no defence, and so the world rocked and rolled as Dean was swiftly hauled back up onto his feet by a ridiculously oversized hand firmly grabbing hold of Dean's jacket collar.

"Where exactly did you think _you_ were going, little man?"

Dean continued to squirm, hoping to maybe cause the bigger man to loosen his grip.

"Little boy's room?"

The hand shook Dean until his teeth rattled.

"Next time..._If_ you're still capable...Ask."

Although when the pair had first walked up to him, Dean had harboured no illusion that Titch and Red had merely fancied showing him a different bar and sharing a drink with him, it didn't stop the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when it was so convincingly confirmed that they weren't out to become mates with him. He _had_ to find a way out of this.

"Seeing as how it seems we might be spendin' some time together, how about one of you freaks tell me who the _frigg_ you are, why you're hassling me and what you want?"

The one on Dean's left, who Dean had named Red, looked down at him, the colour of his eyes changing from a dirty dish water grey, to completely black. The daemon grinned unpleasantly at Dean.

"We've _got_ what we want..._You_. See, there's a very nice bounty been stuck on your pretty little head. You should be flattered. _Somebody_ misses you, an' that _somebody_ wants you back downstairs, where you belong."

Fear flooded Dean's gut. Before hanging out at that little fun factory known as Hell, Dean had rarely allowed any amount of fear ever to peer over the parapet. But that was before he knew, before he understood, before he had experienced it. Now, hearing Red's words, Dean could physically _taste_ his own fear, and it tasted sickeningly coppery.

"I see. Well...Thing is fellas, I'm kinda busy for the next century, so I'm afraid you'll just have to give 'em my apologies. Ok?"

Red grinned, showing a set of extremely decayed teeth.

"Apologies are unacceptable."

**xxxxXXXxxxx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**...**

The sun had all but set and the evening light was beginning to swallow the day's blue skies as the two daemons herded Dean towards a black transit. There were no markings on the van of any kind as far as Dean could see. Even the number plates had been removed. As unobtrusively as he was able, Dean scanned the area around the van, checking whether there were any CCTV camera's pointed in the right direction. His heart rate increased a notch when he spotted a camera, set back into the corner of the car park. He estimated that, whilst it's position wouldn't put the van mid centre, It would pick up enough to clearly show his profile if the muscle heads took him and put him in the back of the van. Drawing closer to the transit, Dean made the snap decision to put on a performance for the camera, wanting to make it perfectly clear to "anyone" who might watch the tape later, that he was_ not_ a willing travelling companion.

Unexpectedly, Dean ground to an abrupt halt. The daemons carried on for a couple of steps before their brains caught up with what their eyes already saw, and commanded their legs to stop their forward momentum. Dean, meanwhile, had spun around and begun to run, making a bee line for the main high street. He didn't for one _moment_ believe that he would actually get very far, and his assumption, sadly, proved itself to be spot on. Once again, Dean came to a sudden standstill; although on this occasion it wasn't as if he had any choice. He felt a horrendously strong, and very physical, tug around his shoulders and waist which served to literally yank him backwards and off his feet. He imagined this was what it must feel like to be a rodeo steer, the cowboy's lasso encircling it and pulling tight, capturing the creature and bringing it crashing down. When Dean hit the ground, the roped sensation changed, becoming an all encompassing pressure, as if the palm of some giant sized hand had covered him and was pushing down, flattening him against the tarmac and holding him there, completely immobile.

Titch strolled casually over and stood, casting his eyes over the helpless hunter. Dean gazed back up at the towering daemon.

"You know...You're an awesomely long way up, up there."

Dean was surprised to see Titch break into an easy smile, he'd expected a kick in the ribs for being such a pain in the ass at the very least.

"And _you,_ human, are an equally long way down. Would it be possible for us to agree that playtime is at an end, and that you're going to do the intelligent thing, and _get in_ _the damn van_...Yes?"

"Tricky. Can't move see."

Titch held out a hand, his open palm hovering over Dean. Snatching his hand closed, Titch formed a fist, and Dean felt the pressure holding him down dissipate. The tall daemon bent down, grabbing hold of Dean around an upper arm. He gave Dean no opportunity to wriggle away, and hauled the hunter upright. With a firm shove, he directed Dean back towards the van. Red was already sat in the drivers seat and he gave the hunter an angry, impatient glare before scowling back at his partner.

"Would've been easier, an' a load more satisfyin', just to have knocked the little shit out when we grabbed him. If it's a pet you're wantin'? Go get a fuckin' Hell Hound. It'd be way less trouble an' twice as useful as this tosser."

Titch glanced at Dean before turning back to Red, a cheery smile once more on his face.

"Possibly so, _but_, no Hell Hound could earn us the prize that this, as you called him, _tosser,_ will do."

The back of the van was completely empty. Dean sat himself in a corner on the bare metal floor. He tried his best not to slide around too much each time they hit a bump or a turned a corner. Every time the brakes were slammed on, or the van took off again, Dean was either crushed up against one of side of the vehicle, or trying to stop himself from being rocketed back in the opposite direction. There were no windows to provide any light, and Dean had heard the doors to the back end of the van being locked immediately after he was first thrown inside. There was little he could do, except to keep himself steadied as best he could, and attempt to make a mental note of the turns the van took, along with noting any particular sounds along the journey; and trying his best _not_ to dwell on exactly who had put the bounty out on him. If he was being honest, he'd have to admit that it was no surprise, and that some similar scenario had crossed his mind occasionally. Usually at night, in the dark, after one of his many nightmares. He'd assumed that it was rare, if not completely unknown, for anyone to break free of Hell and re-join the living, _however_ it was achieved. And, in his particular case, he had made a deal. Returning topside had, he surmised, broken his end of the agreement; even if it wasn't his own actions that had him back and breathing again. His unplanned departure was guaranteed to go down badly with...That guy downstairs.

By the time the van rumbled to halt and the engine silenced, Dean's shoulders and his butt were a curious mixture of both pained and numb_. A slab of tenderised prime steak, that's me! Bruises already formin' up where bruises definitely don't belong._ Dean knew he had mere seconds to come up with a plan. He figured the two daemons would probably open both back doors and expect him to be either sat, or stood, as far back from the doors as possible. So, instead, he quickly moved directly up against the doors, positioning himself at the van's left hand side and squatting low, taking up a posture not unlike that of a sprinter, waiting for the starter's gun to fire. Hearing the van doors being unlocked, he was under no illusions about how flawed his hurried plan was. Even if his body feint managed to carry him past the daemons, he'd have to find cover immediately, or he wasn't going to get very far before they brought him down again with that jerkoff hand waff trick. It didn't matter. However miniscule his chance of success, Dean needed to feel like he was taking action, rather than just passively co-operating. He tensed, set to make another desperate bid for freedom, as soon as the van doors were opened.

Driving into the small customer car park at the back of the bar building, Sam glanced around in surprise. There were just two other cars and the Impala parked up in there. He and Dean had been in the place a couple of times in the past and the place had been pretty full on both occasions. Sam recalled the bar seeming to have a good number of regulars. Why then, on a Friday night, was the car park almost deserted? Sam stared at the familiar shape of the Impala, and felt the spark of anxiety take hold and slowly begin to grow, gathering speed and starting to spread through him rapidly, like a forest fire fanned by the wind. Some deep rooted sixth sense told him that something had happened, and it had happened to his brother. It only remained to find out what that something was. Parking next to the Impala, Sam climbed out of the old Ford and strode around to the bar's main entrance.

Once inside, a quick visual scan revealed that just three people were sat in the actual bar area; a young couple busily face sucking in a booth, and a middle aged man sat drinking alone and occasionally watching the couple, who were clearly unaware that they were providing the free entertainment. Unless he was in the toilets, Dean didn't appear to be around. Sam decided to check the conveniences first.

The door to the gents opened just as Sam reached it. He stepped to one side, letting a scrawny, acne featured youth come out and walk past him. Inside, there was an older male who was in the process of zipping himself up, a satisfied smirk on his face. The smirk rapidly disappeared when he saw Sam enter. His face flushed, the man dropped his gaze and mumbled a quick _'scuse me,_ as he scurried on out of there. Sam watched the man's retreating back as the guy hurried off, heading immediately across to the exit and vacating the bar.

There were just two cubicles in there, and both had their doors standing partially open. Even so, Sam made certain to push the doors open fully. Checking that there was no other way in or out of the toilet area, Sam turned away, his next stop being the bar counter, and the man who stood at the other side of it, engrossed in the sports paper he was holding up to read.

Sam's polite cough drew no response. Bending down, Sam casually extracted a reasonable sized penknife out of his boot. Reaching forward, he delicately grasped the top centre of the newspaper pages between forefinger and thumb; then steadily and slowly, Sam sliced down the centre line with the pen knife, leaving the barman with separate halves of his paper dangling from each hand. The guy stared at the bundle of pages in one hand, then switched his gaze to the other, before finally raising his head and meeting hazel green eyes that watched him unblinkingly. Putting his penknife away, Sam nodded a greeting to the guy.

"Sorry about disturbin' you, but I'm looking for someone that was comin' in here this evening. I'm hoping you can tell me when he left and where I might find him? He's just over six foot, short spiky hair, green eyes, muscular, tells me he's good looking...Ringin' any bells?"

The barman frowned, and looked again at the two halves of his paper before answering.

"Dude...This' a bar, _not_ a freakin' _datin_' agency!"

Sam bent at the waist and rested both his elbows on the counter, never taking his eyes off the barman. He directed a slowly formed, chill, smile at the guy. Finally relinquishing his hold on his newspaper halves, the guy took a step back from the counter and swallowed, hard.

"Er...Oh, hang on...Yeah! Guy was here not so long ago could 'a been him. He came in on his own, had a couple of beers, sat quiet like, didn't seem like he was plannin' on causin' any trouble. Anyways, next thing, these two _huge_ guys, an' I'm talking bigger'n you, they came in; an' then they walked him out. I tell you, those two guys looked tough man, _real_ tough."

Sam didn't let his smile slip.

"Really. And so, you're tellin' me he went with them? Easy as that?"

The barman began to look even more uncomfortable.

"Well...Maybe. Maybe he _did_ seem a bit reluctant, now I come to think about it. I think one of 'em might've said somethin' about folks in here gettin' hurt, you know? Kinda like, if he didn't go with 'em...So, er, he went. An' I gotta say, so did nearly all my customers, once they decided it was safe. Friend, we don't get much trouble in here to speak of, don't invite it, see? Look...I'm sorry about the guy, alright? But, _really_? What the Hell was_ I_ supposed to do? I'm tellin' you man, those other two guys were _huge_!"

Sam stood himself up to his own full height, not letting the nervous barman escape the grip of his cold, hard glare.

"So, I'd be right to assume that no one..._you included_...tried to help my _brother_?"

There was something very satisfying in watching the colour drain out of the man's face, watching his eyes flick to his four customers, see his expression when he realised that each of them, having been watching curiously only moments ago, were all now studiously concentrating on something else. Sam also turned his head and glanced over the handful of customers, before returning his focus back to the human rabbit that he held trapped, frozen, in his headlights.

"Seems to me like there's _still_ no one in here who would try to help anyone that might need it. What do_ you_ think..._Friend_?"

"Please man ... I ... _Shit_!"

Sam gave a further grim, humourless smile. Dean would have _had_ to make some kind of comment on hearing the guy's unintentional proclamation. But Sam wasn't Dean, and he was in no real mood for humour.

"You have CCTV in the car park?"

The guy nodded.

"Good. That means you're gonna be able to do somethin' useful after all. You're gonna let me review your tapes from this evening...Right?"

The guy jumped at the opportunity to show just how much he was now willing to help out in any way that he could; and within a short space of time he had Sam settled and carefully starting to go through the tapes, an "on the house" beer at his side.

It didn't take long for Sam to catch his first glimpse of the Impala pulling into the customer car park, and Dean walking directly under the camera as he headed toward the bar entrance. For a while Sam sat, fast forwarding through the tapes, watching as people and vehicles came and went in speedy, juddery movements that reminded Sam of the old silent movies from the 20's. Finally, something caught Sam's attention, and he rewound the tape a little before starting it playing again in real time speed.

Sam's focus was drawn to the black transit as it parked up, frowning whilst he tried to figure out what was wrong with the image. On screen, both the passenger and the driver's side door opened, and Sam realised what was bothering him so much about the transit. _No number plates_! Sam unconsciously leaned forward in his seat, certain that he was about to get his first look at whoever had been _moronic _enough to think they could get away with taking his brother.

For a while there was no movement to be seen in or around the transit. Sam continued to watch, certain he was focusing on the right vehicle. Finally, there was movement at the driver's side. Sam's eyes bugged when he saw the guy who climbed out to stand next to the van, his back to the camera. Sam guessed the guy _had _to be close on seven foot. He looked well built, with a much more bulky and heavy set to him than Sam had. The guy sported long blonde, Hoganesque hair. The second man then appeared out of the passenger side. _Jeeze!_ _They come in matched_ _pairs? Crap! Who the Hell _are_ you freaks?_ The second guy wasn't as wide as the first and he sported close cropped red hair. He was, however, equally as tall as his companion. Red turned first, and Sam was sure he saw something flash on the tape for the split second that the guy's face was partially in view. He hit rewind and watched again, already knowing for certain that neither one of the pair were exactly human.

xxxxXXXxxxx


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**...**

As Dean hoped, his captors did indeed open both the van's back doors more or less simultaneously. Dean had time to register that Red was closest to where he was readying to go from, and then he launched himself off the back of the van, barraging past the surprised Red, and immediately angling away from the vehicle. Dean desperately sought out some kind of cover whilst racing away from the daemons like a thoroughbred.

"_Shit! Unbelievable! He's at it again_! **_Winchester_****!**"

Aiming for an up-ended metal, industrial sized, waste bin, Dean ignored the shouts from Red and skidded around the bin, putting himself out of the daemons' line of sight. He used the couple of seconds grace that he'd gained before the pair closed in to quickly get a sense of where he was. Dean's swift glance around suggested an abandoned industrial site of some kind. Straight ahead was what looked like a hillock formed out of an old brick pile. Weed's and grasses virtually covering it. Next to that, a collapsed pile of large rusty corrugated metal panels, between those and Dean, three rust eaten metal barrels laying haphazardly on their sides. Not much, but Dean couldn't be picky. He set off at full tilt for the brick pile, skirting around it a fraction before Red and Titch appeared at a run, one coming either side of the up-ended bin, only to find no one there except each other. Titch turned to glare in the only direction Dean could have gone.

"We split up. You go for the mound. I'll head towards that metal sheeting and carry on in that direction. There's not many places he could've got to, and he's got very little headway on us."

With a curt nod, Red immediately set off, heading straight ahead as instructed, hoping he found Dean before his partner. He promised himself that if he _did_ find the irritating little fuck, he'd make _certain_ the son-of-a-bitch wouldn't be able to run a _forth_ time.

Sam watched the tape as it played through narrowed eyes, seeing Dean walking in the middle of the two thugs towards the back of the transit. Suddenly Dean halted, whilst the two daemons carried on for a couple of steps. Dean turned on his heels and began to run, taking a quick look up directly towards the camera, before he disappeared out of the camera's target area. Sam's insides knotted in anger when he saw the blonde guy casually raise a hand, then form a fist and make a tugging motion. Whatever the guy had done, it could only have been aimed at Dean. The same guy then strolled off in the direction that Sam had seen his brother seemingly take. Impatiently Sam ran the tape forward again, until Dean appeared. Sam watched his brother being shoved toward the rear of the van, where one of the doors was opened and Dean was made to climb inside.

By the time the van edged off camera, Sam at _least _had a twisted kind of reassurance that Dean hadn't simply decided to bunk off and hit the road alone. Wherever he was, Dean was _not_ there by choice. Sam's feelings about that was a conundrum which could easily have kept him occupied for hours, if he wanted a philosophical debate with himself. _Sam Winchester. Please listen carefully to the following statement and question, You will have one hour in which to respond and, please; do remember that the rules stipulate you may not seek any assistance from either the studio audience or the panel. ... Your fear that your brother has left you alone again is confirmed as being completely unfounded, when you see with your own eyes that he has, in fact, been taken against his will by persons, or creatures, unknown. Do you feel better, or worse in relation to this knowledge? Discuss. Your hour begins...__**Now**__! _Having seen all there was on the security tapes, Sam went to question the bartender further.

A little later, Sam walked out into the cool of the evening air and glanced around. The best the barman had been able to provide was a description of the pair. It matched the two guys on film, but it wasn't enough. Sam needed to know where they had taken his brother. He pulled out his cell and dialled, willing his call to be picked up. There was a click on the other end, then a voice message kicked in.

_"This's me. Get on with your message after the irritating bip thing, make it quick, then fuck off."_

Sam's message was brief. And blunt.

"Ruby? Ring me. _Now_!"

Ending the call, Sam stared at his cell, counting the seconds off. His phone rang on four.

"Ruby, good. I need info, and fast. Dean's been taken by two daemons. I want to know who they are, why they've grabbed him and where they've taken him. Got that?"

"And hello to you too Sam. You know, I love it when you get all brusque...Gives me tingly feelings in some special kinda places."

"_Ruby_! Cut the crap an' just go find the answers I need."

Sam could virtually hear the smile creeping onto Ruby's lips.

"Impatient little puppy, aren't we? Well, I can answer one part of it straight away. Word downstairs is that there's a bounty on your obnoxious brother's head. Seems some folk aren't too happy that their favourite plaything's been taken away from 'em. Wondered why I hadn't heard from you lately. I guess you two needed to spend time gettin'..._Reacquainted_."

"Screw you...So you knew about the bounty? Why the _Hell_ didn't you warn me?"

"_Hey_! I'm not your fuckin' P.A.! Surely, you an' your dimbo brother didn't think Deanie could _really_ stroll out of Hell without _some_ kinda response? Please...Tell me you're not _that_ naive?"

"Listen to me, bitch, go do whatever you need to get me the info I want, and do it fast. Clock's tickin'."

Sam cut the daemon off before she could reply. Despite everything, he trusted Ruby to do as he asked and, if she came up empty, he knew it wouldn't be because she hadn't tried. Although Ruby spent the majority of her time top side, she still had a few contacts downstairs, Ruby very much liked to be in the loop. Sam didn't envy any of her contacts who had known that Dean had escaped Hell but failed to pass that little snippet on to her. Sam checked his watch. Walking back to his borrowed car, he sat himself sideways on the driver's seat, and waited. He wasn't left waiting long, his cell rang after fifteen minutes.

"Yeah?"

"Hey handsome, was I fast enough for you? Good news...Well, sort of. One of the few folk who'll still talk to me has a friend of a friend, well, as much as you can have down there. Anyway, there's whispering's that your pain in the ass big brother's been picked up in, get this...Sioux Falls. That's where your friend, the old guy, lives isn't it?"

"Bobby, yeah. So, who's got Dean, and where? That's all I need off you for now.."

"You sure?... Ok, accordin' to the divination spell I threw on the area, your sidekick's being held at an old brickwork's. Looks a bit off the old beaten track, you know it?"

"No...But Bobby will...Listen, Ruby, thanks for this. Really. I'll give you a call in a couple, I want to keep practicing and. Well. I appreciate your help, ok?"

"You really are a sweetie aren't you? I'll be here honey, whenever you need, you can count on it."

Dean had no time to stand around listening to the goons' chatter, he had to find better cover, or preferably a way out, and fast. Off to his left there was the wreck of an old forklift, it's tyres gone, cabin windows smashed. Straight ahead, a dilapidated looking shed, one door hung off it's hinges, half it's roof collapsed through to the inside. Beyond that, he noticed a tall security fence made of wide metal uprights, each roughly twelve foot high, and topped off with rusted coils of ancient barbed wire. The coils had unfurled and hung down in places and the fence itself had evidence of rust in numerous places. Through the fence there appeared to be some kind of wide dip, or ditch, running along it's base and, from then on, by the fading light it looked like a large area of overgrown waste ground, a fly tipper's paradise.

Dean took a chance, he ran, focusing first on the need to get to the shed, putting that between himself and the giant coming after him, in theory taking himself out of the daemon's line of sight. Dean best hope was that his smaller, lighter build would at least give him the benefit of being faster than his pursuer. Skidding around to the back of the shed, Dean didn't pause. Veering off, the shed at his back, he raced for the fence. His feet flew over the uneven ground, powerful muscles pumping, pushing himself, not looking back, driving forward, putting everything he could into his flight in the hopes of spotting a break in the fence somewhere that would give him the chance to get onto the dark area of wasteland and go to ground.

Jogging around the hill formed of broken bricks and weeds, it was clear Dean had moved on. Red considered the wreck of the shed, and headed towards it at a faster pace. Inside the remains of the shed, something scuttled amongst the rubble as Red appeared in the open doorway and stared into the shadowed recesses. His eyes being better adjusted to the dark, he didn't have the need for a torch of any description. Part of the collapsed roof had come to landed at a tilt, leaning against one side wall and leaving a narrow, tented gap. Red clambered towards it and easily moved the large piece of roofing away from the wall, throwing it to the floor at the opposite side of the shed. Disappointingly, there was no sign of the hunter having used the spot as a hiding place.

Frustrated, Red kicked at an old coke can that was laying on the floor, bouncing it off the back wall. Exiting the shed, Red paused to visually scan the area. Signs of movement, a darker shape seen by the last not quite dark of the night, drew his eyes in the direction of the boundary fence. _I see you little man. Come on in, time's up._ Red strode away from the shed and into the open. With a sneer, he fixed his gaze on the fast moving shadow that was heading right, following the line of the boundary fence, and raised one hand.

xxxxXXXxxxx


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**...**

Dean heard something crash and clatter behind him. Reaching deep down inside himself, he forced himself to find the extra burst of speed that might make all the difference, intent on getting to the boundary, his only way to increase his shot at loosing the daemon. One foot landed on something hard and sharp edged that suddenly shifted from under him, causing him to stumble in mid-flight and forcing him to slow down as he battled to maintain his balance and stay on his feet, his goal just a short distance away. Squinting into the near darkness, his eyes were already scanning along the base of the fence, looking for an out.

The ground close to the fence was more uneven, more overgrown, harbouring rocks, thick clumps of weeds, stinging nettles, tough thorny branched plants that threatened to trip him, and discarded rubbish. Prevailing winds had wrapped a variety of litter and waste packaging around and up against the fence, flags of torn paper and plastic wrapping fluttered and flapped in the night breeze. Dean was forced to slow his pace, or risk loosing his footing completely. Having no better reason to turn one way or the other, Dean randomly turned to the right, and began following the boundary line.

When it came, there was that tiny fraction of a second where Dean thought he must have been hit and picked up by a twister. A twister which then spat him out again, slamming him face first up against the fence before it moved on, leaving Dean to hit the rough ground on his back. Stunned and having had the breath knocked out of him. Dean fought to re-fill his lungs with air, panting and wheezing, eyes screwed up in pain as he slowly, shudderingly, rolled onto his side, not yet prepared to pull out of the race. A kick to the stomach flipped him over, groaning, onto his back once more, both hands instinctively moving to hug himself around the middle as his struggle to breathe increased again. Words floated above him, and Dean could hear the undercurrent of delight.

"_Gotcha_, you pain in the ass little piece of **_shit_**!"

Small sounds of hurt hitched at the back of Dean's throat as he turned again, moving painfully back onto his side and struggling to curl up, attempting to lay with his back toward the daemon. An oversized hand grabbed none to gently at his shoulder and dragged him over, forcing Dean to lay on his back yet again. Opening his eyes, Dean found himself looking up into the flat, black, shark eyes of Red, bent low and hovering over him. The daemon's cruel smile revealed the decayed teeth in it's borrowed mouth in grim close up.

"Need...Need to...See a...Dentist about those..._Dickwad_."

The daemon's twisted smile turned to a snarl and it straightened up, towering over the hunter.

"And _you, _Winchester_, _are gonna need a doctor...Not that you'll get one, you **_prick_**."

The booted foot smashing into to Dean's ribs didn't hurt for long, his eyes shuttered closed and his hands slipped to his sides, his body going limp and his head slumping to one side. The daemon bent down and grabbed hold of Dean. Dragging the unconscious hunter up off the ground, it threw Dean haphazardly over it's shoulder into a make shift version of a fire fighter's hold, and set off in the direction his partner had taken.

Sam paced up and down the car park, glancing at his watch every couple of minutes, unable to help himself despite knowing full well that Bobby wouldn't exactly be holding to the speed limits as he drove to meet up with him. Sam still clutched his cell in his hand, so very tempted to ring Dean's number, but not daring to in case Dean had managed somehow to get away and into hiding; fearful that making the call would possibly give Dean away. Externally, Sam was obviously agitated, internally he was so much more; inside was a seething cauldron full of volcanic lava with a fast growing need to find a release.

Prior to his brother being killed in front of him and, afterwards, having to bury the torn and tattered remains, Sam would have been made frantic by Dean's disappearance. He would have been distraught, anxious, afraid, distressed, desperate to find him and, hopefully, deal with whoever was responsible. But in his four months without Dean, Sam had changed in quite a few ways. Now, knowing how near to Dean he had been, Sam felt a cold, vengeful, rage. He actively looked forward to ending the two who had _dared_ to take something which belonged to _him_. For this new Sam, there was no doubt, no concern, no alternative...Once Sam had them, there would be no second thoughts, no soul searching, no hesitation; he _would _kill them. Without Dean, and under the guidance of Ruby, it had become that simple to Sam. Monster or human, it didn't matter, if they harmed people, then they died. And Sam knew deep down, _that_ was the thing that Dean wouldn't be able to handle anymore. Dean was a hunter, it was all he would ever be. Sam, however, had moved on. Sam was well down the road to becoming a killer. Ruby was an extremely good teacher.

Sam stopped pacing and stretched to his full height when he saw Bobby's truck swing into the car park, he waved at Bobby, letting the older hunter know where he was. The truck turned in Sam's direction and Bobby slid it into the vacant spot next to Dean's Impala. Swinging out of the truck, Bobby wasted no time on greetings or sympathies, instead he got straight down to business, for which Sam was grateful. Sam could deal with plans and action right now, what he _couldn't_ deal with was emotion.

"So...Dean's been taken and you think it's daemons. Why?"

"Something I saw on the security tapes. For some reason, the camera records their _real_ face, the one they've got hidden inside the meat suit. Believe me, this pair aren't human Bobby."

"And the barman? He's sure they talked about some kinda bounty on Dean's head?"

"Absolutely."

Bobby's steady gaze was fixed on Sam's face.

"Well, sounds like there's one thing in our favour. This pair must be pretty dumbass to mouth off to Dean about where they're gonna take him in front of witnesses!"

Sam met Bobby's gaze full on, without flinching.

"You're not wrong, but I tell you Bobby, _I'm_ grateful they _are_ a couple of loose lipped dipshits. If they weren't, Dean would be the proverbial needle in one major league haystack."

Bobby grunted, he couldn't disagree with the boy, but he couldn't shake this odd feeling that there was more to how Sam knew where Dean had been taken than the kid was letting on. Still, a break was a break and you take what you can get. Bobby produced the spare keys to the Impala out of his pocket.

"Figured Dean would appreciate being brought home in his baby. I'll just grab my stuff. There's only one brickyard around these parts, been closed down years an' it's off the beaten track. Makes it a good place to take Dean."

Bobby threw Sam the Impala keys before reaching back inside the truck, extracting his kit bag first, then pulling out a Browning Autoload BAR Mark II Safari rifle. Sam whistled.

"Wow, she's a beauty Bobby."

Bobby looked lovingly at the rifle he held, a smile of pride blossoming on his face.

"She is that...Aren't you baby?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Oh, crap. It's catching! First Dean, now you. Please, don't _ever _sit polishing that thing in front of me! The imagery's too much already. What ammo you usin'?"

Bobby removed the magazine from the gun and held it out for Sam to see.

"Three WSM rounds, filled with salt obviously, an' two spare magazines. She's steady, and she's got range."

Sam nodded approvingly.

The ground felt hard beneath him and he could feel that he was laid up against something solid. The side of his face and the shoulder that wasn't hitched against the wall, or whatever it was, felt comfortably warm, the rest of him, however, was cold. The sound of wood crackling and spitting explained the warmth. Someone, more than likely Red and Titch unless some passing stranger had been good enough to rescue his ass, had a fire going not too far away. One thing he was certain of, it sure wasn't a Hell fire, no where _near _hot enough. So, on a positive note, maybe he was still top side? Still with his eyes closed, Dean checked himself for levels of damage by the simple expediency of breathing. Short, shallow breaths, ok. Short deeper breaths? Ah. Not so good, the stomach cramps would be painful, if it weren't for the immediate flare from his ribs on one side outdoing them. Back to short shallow then, before the big test. Ok, here goes, breathing normally...

The sound of someone trying hard to muffle the noise of their pain alerted the daemons to the fact that their bounty had woken. Red held out a hand to his partner.

"S'ok. Stay put, I'll go say hello."

His partner threw Red a look of warning.

"Make sure that's _all_ you do Caltorr."

"Why? What's the big deal? He's not gonna be breathin' much longer anyway, why's it matter?"

"It probably doesn't, but I'd hate finding out the rules _have_ altered, and nobody thought to tell us. After all, _brother_, remember who the paymaster is!"

Caltorr considered his brother's words, finally spitting on the floor and giving a brief nod.

"Ok...I'll play nice, for now."

Heavy footfalls coming directly towards him told Dean his wakefulness had been noticed. Opening his eyes, two legs like tree trunks were all he saw at first, until the owner of the legs lowered himself down on to one knee and Dean looked up into Red's unsympathetic face. Red turned his head to glance over his shoulder, before returning his gaze to Dean, a shadow of a smile appearing on his lips.

"How're you feelin' Winchester? Sounded like you might not be doin' so good."

Dean stayed silent, concentrating on keeping his breathing under control and recognising the value of avoiding antagonising Red, hopefully, not giving the daemon a reason to add to the injuries he'd already inflicted. Red was no longer smiling and he lowered his voiced almost to a whisper.

"Aw, c'mon Winchester, stop bein' such a good puppy. Give me an excuse."

Still not saying a word, Dean unblinkingly held the Daemon's eyes with his own, scoring one to himself when Red gave in, breaking eye contact first. Leaning closer to Dean, Red whispered softly,

"_Later_."

xxxxXXXxxxx


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**...**

Riding shotgun, Bobby peered out into the dark as the Impala bumped and bounced it's way along an unlit potholed track that had once been the work's access road.

"I still can't credit it Sam. A pair of daemons, both_ dumb_ enough to blab about where the guy all those folks in the bar can see bein' _kidnapped,_ is gonna be taken. How the _Hell_ did those unholy _shitforbrains_ manage to get the jump on Dean?"

Sam thought he heard a vaguely challenging undercurrent in Bobby's tone, or maybe he was just feeling paranoid about his relationship with Ruby? Whatever, Sam ignored it.

"Well...Could be his guard was down? I mean, why wouldn't it be? All he was doing was heading out for a drink. Or...I dunno...maybe he's further off his form than we realised? _Maybe,_ being in Hell's just left him sloppy? Don't forget, they made threats about the people in the bar if Dean didn't go along with them. Seems to me he didn't have much in the way of choice. It's not like he was ok with it. The security tape showed he _tried_ to get away once they were outside the bar."

Bobby gave a short nod.

"Yeah, you're right...No _way_ Dean would've risked innocent bystanders getting hurt. Any clue who's put the price on his head?"

"_Jeeze_ Bobby! Given our line of work? It'd be easier to think who _wouldn't_ want to get their hands on him!...There! Up ahead, looks like our way in. I'm gonna park back here, don't want to chance anyone hearing the engine...We good?"

Experienced eyes already scanning the area, Bobby nodded.

"We're good, kid. Time to get your brother back."

Walking silently up to the main work's entrance, Sam could see that there had once been two iron gates, but only one remained in place now. Set into the gate's iron uprights, letters in rusted metal that showed only the merest trace of their old bright colouring, bore half the company's name, SIOUX FALLS BRICK WO. Together, the two men headed for the gap left by the missing second gate. Bobby slowed and halted, reaching out to lightly tap Sam's arm. Seeing that Bobby had come to a standstill, Sam walked back to him.

"What is it?"

Bobby inclined his head, directing Sam's attention onto the second of the firm's entrance gates, which looked like it had been simply tossed to one side. Squinting in the gloom, Sam read the continuation of the words which began on the first gate, RKS & HARDCORE SUPPLYS.

"Check out where the hinges used to be."

Sam looked. Where the gate had been attached to the post by three very solid and heavy hinges, there were now three areas of blackened, knarled and twisted messes of steel. The gate appeared the have been simply melted away from the gate post.

"This pair might be as dumb as raw potatoes in strawberry Jell-O, but they're not just low level cannon fodder _either_. They've got some power behind 'em boy."

Sam peered into the dark of the factory yard.

"Looks like...Still, their powers can't harm us, not while ever they don't know we're here."

Bobby gave a low grunt.

"True enough."

Red left Dean and wandered back across to the fire, leaving Dean with the opportunity to check out his surroundings. He could only see to where the light of the fire cast it's glow, but he sensed that the place went on for quite a way. He was laying on a concrete floor, coated in dirt and grime. The walls appeared to be metal and the roof was high above. Here and there he could see stars twinkling where through broken panels of glass in windows set high up into the walls, almost up to the roof. Dean figured he was in an abandoned warehouse building. Red had rejoined Titch by the fire and they talked in low voices, passing a bottle of clear liquid between each other. Dean guessed it probably wasn't fizzy lemonade. Using his opportunity, he risked moving, testing out what he was capable of. His main problems were all centred around his torso, he could cope with the other odd bumps and bruises he'd gathered from his collisions with the ground, but his ribs and the tenderness in his abdomen were something else. Even if he could manage to get to his feet without the two asshats noticing, he doubted that he'd be able to move very fast. He began to glance around his immediate area, looking for anything that might serve as a weapon but, unless the pair had a _serious_ dust allergy, he was right out of luck.

At the edge of the old work's yard, Sam peered around in the darkness, hope to spot a light or something else that would pin point where Dean was possibly being held.

"Bobby? Any best guesses where a couple of brain donor daemons might store a hunter in this place?"

Bobby stood thoughtfully for a while, his lips moving soundlessly whilst he talked himself through what the layout of the place had been, back in the days when he was a regular customer. He'd used the factory fairly regularly back then, before his own history led to him becoming a hunter. He'd bought all his brick and hardcore supplies from this place back then when he was doing jobs at the salvage yard. As the owners got to know Bobby, an arrangement had unspokenly been established. Bobby always bought those bricks which had been marked as seconds, always at a cheap price but, when he became a familiar face, and after fixing cars free of charge for a handful of the staff, whenever Bobby bought his bricks, a proportion of first quality bricks would somehow find their way in amongst his purchases. Over time though, the company stopped being able to compete with the big DIY chains, and it closed down. Since then the land had lain idle, with no one taking up the lease. Bobby wondered whether the current town council even knew it was there to be leased?

Dragging himself back from yester year, Bobby gave Sam a nod.

"I reckon the most likely place is where the kilns used to be located. There used to be a kinda outbuildin' where they stored small equipment, fresh light bulbs an' such. The bricks themselves were stored in the open. Then there was some roofed, semi open storage areas where they'd store bags of sand and other stuff they wanted to stop the rain gettin' to. Things like the showers an' toilets, oh and the offices, they were all rental. You know, those odd cabin things? Always look like they're just slotted together? They would've been took away when the place closed so...Yeah. The main production and firing area's my bet.

"Great. Lets head there then...Lead the way, old man."

Bobby humphed, and made certain he cuffed Sam harmlessly around the back of the head when he walked past the younger hunter.

From the outside, the kiln shed and production area looked like one huge metal sided warehouse building. All it's windows were sited high up, not far below the roof line, and running at regular intervals for the full length of the building along the side which faced Sam and Bobby. Whilst there was no sign of any electrical lighting switched on, there _was_ signs of a faint orange glow coming from the inside and showing up at three of the glassless window spaces. Clearly, someone had a fire going in there. Sam estimated the fire to be positioned around a third of the way down the internal area from that end of the shed which was closest to where Sam stood.

"Jackpot. Ok, how do we get in?"

"We've a couple of options. First is, the main doors are at the other end from us, or there's a fire escape door roughly half way down. I s'ppose we could simply burst in, all guns blazin' and kicking up a storm, hopin' for the best. It's loud, but strategically crass. Or, at the other side of the building from us, there's an external metal flight of steps leads up to another fire exit."

Sam looked surprised.

"Right, so there's two floors inside?"

Bobby shook his head.

"No, not another floor exactly. But there _is_ a fairly broad metal walkway runs full length down that side. One end's got this basic little cabin type office set up on it. Never had much in it, just a narrow plank of wood bracketed to one wall for a desk; other bits ran to a phone, an' a couple of chairs. Shift managers used it to check up on production, and potential bulk purchasing client's could watch the bricks bein' made, an' then quality checked from up there. There's another set of steps on the inside runs down from the walkway to the factory floor. I'm thinkin' if we use the steps up the outside, we've the chance to get in unseen, an' keep to the shadows against the wall, or even get to the cabin an' stay out of sight while we reccie the set up. Sound good?"

"Sounds like the best plan we've got so...Yeah. Let's do it!"

Downing the last of the vodka, Titch glanced at the expensive branded watch his involuntary host was wearing.

"Time we made the call. Here, you take this."

Titch passed a large, sharp looking dagger, etched along the blade with symbols representing dark magic and blood sacrifice across to his brother. Caltorr held the blade up and turned it, liking the way it glinted in the firelight.

"I'll fetch him and hold him, you make the cut."

At the sound of heavy footfalls getting nearer, Dean instinctively huddled further up against the wall. For a moment or three, the freakishly huge Daemon halted by Dean and simply stared down at the hunter, as if Dean were some new species of insect he'd just spotted. Despite the small relief offered by the fact that it wasn't Red, after glaring back up at the giant, Dean turned his head away, really not liking how small and vulnerable the sheer height and bulk of the thing made him feel. The tale of David and Goliath rose up in Dean's mind. But this time, Dean guessed, despite him taking on the role of David, it was in no way guaranteed that he'd be on the winning side. In fact, Dean was prepared to stick his neck out and say that he hadn't got an ice cube's chance in Hell.

The daemon squatted himself down next to Dean.

"How are you human? If you feel _half _as bad as you look...Well!"

Dean kept his head turned away.

"That's funny, coming from something that probably looks like an armadillo's ass without the meatsuit on"

His surprise when the daemon chuckled had Dean relenting and turning to look up into the daemon's eyes. The creature smiled down at Dean in return.

"Actually, that's more how Caltorr, my brother, looks without _his_."

Dean's eyes narrowed.

"You mean Red over there?"

"Red? Ah, I see. Yes. That'd be him."

"He's your brother? Nasty piece of shit-for-brains ain't he?"

The creature's friendly smile faded somewhat.

"I'll let you in on a secret...He's a daemon. We're _all_ nasty. Oh, and please, don't let this smile fool you, that does include me ... Caltorr and I have a call to make and, luckily for us, _you_ are a fully charged battery. He and I have a bounty to claim. Up you get, hunter."

Dean found himself hauled to his feet so fast that he had to close his eyes to stop the world from spinning. He couldn't, however, stop his strangled cry of anguish at the agonising flare of his damaged ribs reacting to the careless treatment with ever lengthening spikes of pain. His eyes watered and his legs refused to engage. The daemon simply tucked the stricken man under one arm and dragged him, like a rag doll, over to the fire. Dean fought to breath, felt his blood pressure pounding in his head, wished he could puke down the daemon's leg, but only managed to cough and dry heave, which in it's turn spiralled him down into semi-consciousness and he hung, bonelessly, in the daemon's hold. Dean vaguely wondered who else was there with them, and why they were making those half moaning, half sobbing sounds?

From their vantage point, Bobby's arm shot out and blocked Sam's instinctive forward motion. Sam glared at the older hunter, but Bobby simply shook his head firmly. Frustrated, Sam returned his attention back to the daemon that he was _so_ looking forward to killing.

Caltorr chuckled briefly.

"Looks like a human handbag the way you're carryin' him. Need some assist?"

"Thank you, but I'm pretty sure I can manage my own luggage."

Titch hefted Dean upright, positioning him so that Dean's back rested up against the daemon's chest and then wrapping his arms around the hunter's waist to keep Dean on his feet. Dean squirmed and wriggled ineffectively, fighting to try and break free of the huge, muscular arms which encircled him, each movement disturbing his ribs again, forcing animal sounds of distress out of Dean's throat. There came a moment when everything else was forgotten, where virtually all the sum of Dean's parts shrivelled out of existence, leaving just that single, awful, piece of him, the pain. And at that lonely moment, Dean truly believed that he was already captive again, within the bowels of Hell.

Openly grinning, Caltorr reached towards the semi-conscious hunter, grabbing one of Dean's arms and jerking it forward. Changing his hold, Caltorr moved to grip Dean's wrist tightly, twisting it over and revealing the inner side of Dean's forearm. He wasted no time in pushing the point of the dagger into Dean's flesh just below the crook of Dean's elbow. Turning to look down at the hunter's face, Caltorr violently sliced down Dean's arm to his wrist, licking his lips as Dean half groaned, half shouted incomprehensibly. Blood streamed from the wound and Caltorr firmly held the arm steady whilst he caught the mixture of bright and dark red flowing liquid in a silver coloured bowl. His eyes flashed to black as he watched the vessel fill. Dean had fallen silent, becoming compliant. Caltorr glanced at the hunter hanging limp against his brother's hold, and wondered whether the hunter even recognised what was happening? No matter. The lack of defiance in the hunter simply meant that the whole process went smoother.

xxxxXXXxxxx


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**...**

"That's plenty to make the call Caltorr, you can let go of him ... Come on Winchester, time for you to lay down and go bye bye's like a good little hunter, until it's time to hand you over."

Although he was whispering so quietly that even Bobby, hankering down alongside him, could only just make out Sam's words, there was no mistaking the nuclear rage which under pinned Sam's tone.

_"We can't wait anymore. They're leaving him on the floor to die. I can't just sit an' watch my brother bleed to death. I can't. We can take them Bobby, both of them, right now!"_

Bobby shot a hand out, grabbing the collar of Sam's shirt, pulling him forward until Sam's face was only inches from his own.

_"You listen to me, idjit. Yeah we can we take 'em, an' then you better make damn certain you grow eyes in your backside boy; 'cos I guarantee there'll be others after the bounty. You want this over? Let them make the damn call. Neither of those two jerks get to see the sun rise, but we gotta put down the main guy in order to really end this. Comprende?"_

Dean tried, and failed, to gauge how much blood he had lost. Factoring in his shaky legs and his dizzying light headedness, he figured it was no small amount. His levels of disorientation increased further when the daemon, and the fire behind it, both seemed to take off and fly into the air. The familiar feel of the hard floor underneath him and the lessening of the hurt and pressure on his ribs told Dean that, actually, the daemon and fire hadn't suddenly defied gravity between them, it was simply that he had been set down and he was now laying prone, on his back again. Managing to rise his head a fraction, Dean looked down at his arm and, seeing the pooling of blood gradually forming around it, realised that the long knife cut had simply been left to bleed out. A half smile formed on his face. _Guess whoever put the bounty on my head gave it the old dead or alive._ Hearing Titch begin the calling spell, Dean's thoughts drifted to what might be in store for him, back in Hell.

Strangely, he didn't feel afraid, despite knowing exactly what he would spend eternity going through. His mind wandered on, re-living how things had been for him previously, what he had eventually turned into. Maybe it was right he went back down? Maybe _this_ way, he'd have the chance to make amends, to ease the burden of guilt that had followed him everywhere since he crawled back out of his grave? Maybe _his_ suffering could wipe clean some of the vile stain he felt certain _had_ to be ingrained deep into his soul. Maybe this was what he needed, in order to travel the long road to redemption and, maybe eventually, however many centuries it took, he would at last begin to feel like he could forgive himself, even if God never did.

His only regret was Sam. Sam had changed, and really not in a good way. Four months. That was all it had taken. Then Dean had come back. Dean _had_ thought that, given time and with them being together again, he might be able to help Sam become himself once more, start to be his Sammy again. Dean figured that chance was now gone; and he was afraid of what it would do to Sam to discover Dean had been taken from him again, after such a short time. And Sam _would_ find out. Probably tomorrow. When he and Bobby realised Dean hadn't come home. Sam would head into town, go to the bar he knew Dean had gone to. He'd talk to the barman, check the security tapes, and he'd see. Dean wondered how long Sammy would keep searching, before he finally accepted Dean wasn't coming back this time? Dean hoped it wasn't too long. Maybe Sam would even figure where Dean was? Then he'd know it was pointless. But then, knowing he couldn't change anything, what might that make Sammy become?

Dean so wished there was some way for him to let both Sam and Bobby know that it was ok; that he was only going back to where he belonged, and that it was really how things should be.

"Sir, I thank you for speaking wi ..,..Yes Sir, of course. I and my brother, Caltorr, are pleased to report that we hold the one you seek. We respectfully submit our claim to the bounty offered by yourself...Sir? Yes Sir, Dean Wi ..,.,..,.. I speak the truth Sir. We have him ...,... _Yessir_! You _honour _us Sir! My bro..."

The conversation clearly having been terminated, Titch turned to his brother, a stunned expression on his face.

"Caltorr. He journey's _here,_ to verify our claim with his own eyes!"

"Lucifer's Hell fire! When? When's he comin'?"

"Immediately!"

Right on cue, all sounds from the crackling wood fire died away, the silently flickering flames began to burn green, and to extend and grow. As the flames stretched up taller, a red glow began to spread out from the very heart of the fire, bringing with it, heat. It was heat beyond that of a normal wood fire, the kind of heat that feels like it forms blisters at the back of your throat with every breath. The green flames began to bend back from the centre, like a flower opening up it's petals to greet the sun. The red glow started to solidify, and the heat coming off from it increased. Both daemons backed away, staring as the red turned to a searing, deep scarlet which began to pull and shift, moulding itself into a shape, becoming taller, tall enough to make even the two daemons tilt their heads back. A humanoid shape began to grow and take form. Two legs seemed to pull at the glow, sucking it down into themselves, using it to build upwards, an elongated torso. Over-long and muscular arms which seemed to have white hot lava forming the corded veins running their length stretched out from the heavy set torso. Each long taloned finger formed individually, flexing and curling as they came into being. Where each part of the figure had re-formed, the hazy remnants of red light continued to hover over and encase the creature's hide, the colour and texture of which was reminiscent of that of a Komodo lizard. A part of the red heat now centred itself, blazing and pulsing, beginning to coalesce into wide, heavy shoulders, whilst the rest began to spin and whirl, mixing and blurring like some eerie abstract painting. The two waiting daemons prostrated themselves on the ground.

Despite the fire, Dean was beginning to feel cold. He gave a short laugh. _Ironic. Not gonna be problem much longer though, should make most of p'raps._ He felt kind of floaty, and tingly, and sort of numb, and his hearing was getting fuzzy, and he only half listened to Titch who seemed to be talking to himself. _Somethin' 'bout havin' the bounty? Oh, right...Tha's me...Wunner what I'm cost...worth? Wish they'd get movon...m'tired...Oops...that'll be me blood...what I avn't...got no...more... _Through the mist of pain and blood loss, Dean slowly became aware of a new sensation. _S'hot _... _n' red?_

Fighting now to keep his eyes open, Dean rolled his head in the direction of the heat and the strange red glow. He frowned when his lazily drifting gaze caught sight of the two daemons kneeling on the floor, their foreheads resting against the dirty concrete, their arms stretched out on the floor in front of them._ Wha'?... Wass doin'? Oh. Oh crap, tha's ... Shit! ... I ... Fuck...__**no**__ ... sammy, sammy ... don' wanna ... don' wanna go ... back ... don' make me ... hafta'... please ... hurts ... __hurts so mu .. please ... a ...__don'__...__wan . . ._

Bobby and Sam both stared in horror at the creature beginning to materialise below their hidden vantage point, Bobby took the safety off his rifle. Sam directed his gaze at his long time friend, and nodded.

"This's how it's gonna be Bobby. You take down the morons, then you get Dean out. End of. You don't look back, you don't _come_ back. Your job's my brother. _He_ needs you ... I _don't_."

Shock and hurt flared in the older hunter's eyes, Sam didn't have the time for it.

"I'm _ordering_ you Bobby.'Cos I _swear_, I won't stop; even if you're in the way. Now _go_!"

Bobby's glare promised a whole world of word's were going to be had later, but all Sam cared about was now; later, if it happened, would take care of itself. Moving out of the box cabin, Bobby raised his rifle, aiming at the back of the larger bounty hunter's head.

There was a huge explosive sound, and Caltorr felt something wet hit him at the side of his head. Keeping his forehead to the ground, he twisted to look in his brother's direction. His brother's corpse was twitching, blood still sprayed forcefully from the shredded remains of his brother's neck and shoulders, where his brother's head should have been. Caltorr wiped a hand over where he had felt the wetness hit him and brought what he found there into his line of sight. Bile filled his throat when he recognised the globular lumps that partially clung to, or splattered off his blood slicked fingers to the floor, for what they actually were. Small ruined particles of his brother's brain, the majority of pieces coated in thick, sticky, bright red, blood.

Raising his head slightly and taking in more of the floor area surrounding him, Caltorr gaped at the tiny scull fragments showered around on the ground like scarlet hailstones. Caltorr's grievous moan started from somewhere deep down inside himself, but it never had the chance to fully form as a second explosive bang smeared the flesh, bone and internal contents of Caltorr's own head amongst that of his brother's.

Seeing how far now the hell creature's formation had now managed to get, Bobby wasted no time and set off racing along the metal walkway, heading for a rusty ladder leading down to the factory floor. Holding on with one hand to the outer side of the ladder whilst gripping his gun tightly in the other, Bobby didn't so much climb down the ladder so much as slide down, gritting his teeth as best he could against the painful sensation of rusting flakes of metal cutting and tearing through his palm as his rapid descent scraped off the rough, loose surface shards from the ladder's side. He couldn't stop his throaty sounds of hurt or his cursing, but he didn't dare slow down his rate of travel, utilising gravity more than any great climbing ability. The hard concrete floor did nothing to cushion the jolt to Bobby's feet and ankles when he slammed down onto ground level and he found himself hop skipping towards where Dean lie until the sharp ache of the impact settled and he could run normally again. Bobby kept his eye's firmly on the younger hunter, all the while trusting, _hoping,_ that Sam was about to do something - _Anything_ - to distract the Hell creature's attention away from himself and the motionless figure of Dean who was closer to the thing than Bobby was anything like comfortable with.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**...**

The instant Bobby moved forward and took aim at the first of the two prostrate daemons, Sam had his cell in his hand and was hitting speed dial. He waited impatiently for the voice mail message to end.

"It's me. I need help, _now_!"

Bobby's rifle roared as he took the first of his shots.

"Hi sweetie, I'm flattered. Two calls in the same evening! Does this mean we're goin' steady now?"

Sam spun around to find Ruby, arms folded, head on one side, an expectant expression on her face.

"Ruby! Thank God!"

Ruby's mouth twitched in amusement.

"Probably not ... So, up to anythin' excitin'?"

A second rifle shot cracked the air. Ruby glanced in the direction it had come from.

"My, my. Never would've figured the old guy for having such an impressive weapon!"

"_Ruby_!"

Ruby rolled her eyes and sighed as she uncrossed her arms and stood herself up straighter.

"Okay! I apologise._ Happy_? ...What're we up against?"

Sam directed the daemon's attention down to the factory floor below them.

"See for yourself. Maybe you can tell _me_ what the fuck that thing is?"

Ruby frowned at Sam before stepping closer to the edge of the walkway and peering down. Sam was left both surprised and more than a little concerned by the she daemon's immediate reaction. He could have convinced himself that he was mistaken when he thought he saw her complexion turn a couple of shades paler, but her clumsy and rapid step backwards, away from the edge of the walkway, couldn't have signalled much else. Ruby was afraid.

"Ruby? What's wrong? What is it?"

By the time Ruby turned to fully face Sam, she had managed to compose herself.

"It's not the what, it's the _who_. Down there my friend, about to be fully materialised, is one of the meanest, nastiest bastards in all of Hell. I'm guessing he's the one put the bounty on your brother's head?"

Sam gave a quick nod of confirmation.

"Well, I suggest we deal with him _before_ he finds his sea legs. How do we get down there?"

Something moved through Sam's peripheral vision, turning he stopped breathing when he saw Bobby, racing towards Dean and into the open, almost directly in front of the grotesque form who's head had now taken on virtually it's complete shape and was, in parts, solidifying. It's near finalised huge gaping mouth stretching wide open, flexing, testing it's functioning and movement, revealing an array of long, yellow, meat encrusted, crocodilian teeth.

"_Shit_! Ruby, Bobby's down there already! You gotta do something, _now_, before it notices him!"

The speed with which Ruby's attitude and moods could change still had the ability to amaze Sam. In the early days it had made him wary, served to keep him cautious around her, maintain his distance. But as he had become more connected to her, more in tune with her, he most often shrugged her sudden temper tantrums off. Right now however, it was a relief. The Ruby that suddenly faced him was a Ruby that was instantly focused, she was decisive, she was supremely self confident, she was in complete control, she was fearless, she was keen and ready to fight...Right now, Ruby was deadly.

"I'll meet you down there, and Hun? Make it _sooner_ rather than later."

Sam hesitated only long enough to see Ruby blink into existence on the factory floor on the opposite side of the monster to where his brother and, now, Bobby were positioned. She looked hopelessly small in comparison to the beast she was about to engage. Unwilling to leave her standing alone, Sam hit his accelerator, long legs carrying him swiftly over the walkway and half way down the ladders, from where he jumped, allowing his ankles to flex and knees to bend as he landed, lithely moving on, straight back into a sprint, heading directly to where Ruby stood.

Ruby knew her best chance lay in a swift attack, giving the greater daemon no chance to get it's bearings or to identify her as a threat. Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, Ruby grounded herself. She raised both arms, holding them stretched out in front of her, she spread her hands, her open palms facing the beast. Within her own mind, Ruby reached down, deep inside herself, seeking, and finding, the absolute core of her daemonic powers. Ruby gave her true nature a swift metaphorical kick - _Time to_ _rise and shine_ - At that same moment, the thing she was preparing to attack was filling the empty spaces within the factory building with it's terrible, nerve searing roar.

Around Bobby, the air itself felt like it was vibrating with the sound of Hell. Bobby wanted to clamp both hands to his ears, he wanted to scream back, try to cover the sound with his own. Instinct handed down through a millennia of evolution coursed through him, filling him with the urge to flee, seek safety, get out of the open space, _hide_. Without conscious thought, his body poised itself to run as the creature announced it's arrival again, until something called Bobby back to himself. Amongst the thunder of the damned, a father's hearing responded instead to a small, soft sound. A murmur of hurt and fear, one made by the boy he loved.

Nothing else mattered, only _his_ boy, only Dean. Eyes blurred with the tears of his own fear, Bobby forced himself to take the time to inspect the wound to Dean's arm.

_"Balls!"_

Creature from the black lagoon or not, Bobby had to wrap the injury, try to slow down the bleeding before he moved the boy. Keeping himself between Dean and the Hell beast, his back towards the creature, Bobby quickly unearthed wound dressing pads and a bandage. With no time for finesse, Bobby's only aim was to get pressure over the wound. As swiftly as his skilled hands worked, every single second Bobby expected to feel the monster's clawed hands grab hold of him and lift him upwards, towards it's nightmare of a mouth.

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	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**...**

Dressing's applied, Bobby slung his kit bag over one shoulder and reached to gather the younger hunter in his arms, raising the injured man up into a seated position and, from there, hauling the young man upward and over his shoulder. Holding Dean safe, Bobby grabbed his rifle in his free hand and stood carefully upright, never once wavering under his burden. Without pausing to wonder at the ease with which he had performed the task, Bobby set off, at a run, towards their way out.

Nearing Ruby, Sam saw her raise her arms and bow her head, becoming motionless, and then the monster roared. Sam staggered momentarily under the impact of the sudden ear shattering eruption of sound. Regaining his impetus, he slewed to a halt next to Ruby, as the she daemon's head short up, her eyes obsidian black. Glancing his way, a smile to make the blood run cold formed on her lips, her voice was a barely recognisable deep growl.

"Care to join in with me human?"

Swallowing hard, Sam answered with a nod, and turned to face the a creature whose like he had never seen. Raising his arms, his posture mimicked Ruby's, whilst the creature before them let loose it's second Heaven shaking roar.

In unison, daemon and hunter let their power fly from their hands, Sam's streaming white light seeming feeble next to the erupting onslaught of blazing scarlet and intense orange streams of heat and colour tumbling out of Ruby and flaring like a rolling, swirling, compacted wave of northern lights, straight into the face of her target. Shock briefly disrupted the flow of Sam's own power and he quickly had to regain his focus. Possibly buoyed by the utter power emanating from this daemon woman that he realised he hardly knew, Sam's own daemonic centred power flared brighter, whiter, becoming stronger, more intense than he had _ever_ achieved before, and the sensation thrilled him.

Eyes determinedly fixed on the open door out of the factory and into the cool night air beyond, Bobby stoically maintained his momentum, despite the heavy, precious load draped over his shoulder. The muscles in his thighs screamed out for relief, his breathing came in short, rasping gulps, sweat streaming down his forehead marred his vision, the salt stinging his eyes, but this old dog wasn't ready to give up just yet. If this was the last thing Bobby ever did as a hunter, if the strain eventually proved too much and caused his heart to stutter and fail, he would damn well finish the job first!

In what felt like a lifetime ago, he once threatened to shoot John Winchester, furious that the man hadn't hung on, had let go and allowed this same boy to fall; watched his son drop, knowing it would probably kill him. It sure wasn't through the actions of his father that Dean had somehow survived, all be it barely ... That was then, this was now, and _he_ wasn't John Winchester. He was Bobby Singer...And he would _never_ let Dean fall.

A bloodcurdling howl of agonised rage tore it's way in to the souls of both Sam and Bobby. For Sam it was the sweet sound that foretold of the possibility of victory. To Bobby it was the cry of a mind tortured beyond insanity, and promising hot vengeance on those who caused it such unremitting, brain crushing, pain.

Bobby slowed down long enough in his flight to glance back, looking for the reason Hell's creature made that sound. It wasn't hard to figure. The whole of the creatures upper body was encapsulated within a shifting, pulsating brilliance of light, comprising of bloody scarlet, flaming orange and a white so bright, it hurt to look at it directly. Tracing the source of the vibrating, ribboned flares of acid light which had ignited the hungry flames licking over and bursting from the body of the beast, Bobby thought he could make out two figures, one of whom seemed to be a female. The other, impossibly, appeared to be the familiar figure of Sam. From his position, it seemed as if the source of the pure white arc of light lancing towards the beast was springing directly from Sam's own hands. But...Sam didn't have that kind of ability...did he? Bobby's mind ran a replay, he and Sam, hidden from view up on the metal walkway ..._This's how it's gonna be_ _Bobby...You don't look back...He needs you...I don't_... Surely _this_ couldn't be behind Sam's hurtful words? Bobby shook his head, telling himself no. _Can't be from the kid. Dean an' him would've told me if Sam had gotten control of the thing Sam thought was inside him. That...Whatever...Sam had sworn saved him from that Lilith bitch?_

Sam threw back his head, laughing, revelling in the power flowing through and out of his body. A broad grin on his face, he turned his head to look down at the woman by his side.

"It's working Ruby. We're _doing_ it! We're fuckin' _doing it_!"

"_Keep your focus human_! Don't give him room to attack, or we shall _both_ regret it."

It seemed to Bobby that, whatever the reason, Sam was right, Sam really _didn't_ need him right now. But, Dean still did, and Bobby turned his mind back to his task, the one entrusted to him by Sam, the one Bobby would happily have taken on, without the need for Sam to tell him to do so. It was harder now, but Bobby pushed himself to run again, squashing down the protestations of his legs and his back. Driving himself forward with an internal chant, _Won't let go, won't let go, won't let go_, swallowing up the distance, until he was within less than four yards of his goal. Under four yards. That's how close he was; so...damn...close. Then a hurricane blasted out of nowhere..

The wave of heat hit first, shocking Bobby to a stand still in the honest belief that he was on fire, one thought raising it's cry above all others, _Dean!_ Then within the space of a heartbeat, a piercing whistle became a mind numbing squeal, that turned to an agonising and persistent screech. Every particle of dirt, dust and grime from the factory floor lifted off, swirling as though on a spin cycle, up into the air; carried by winds seemingly powered by a tornado inside the factory building. The same winds were more than strong enough to lift a full grown man and his burden briefly off his feet, fling him around dizzyingly, and hurl him with such power and ferocity, that the grown man might travel far enough to hit solid ground, outside the wide factory doorway. Buffeted off his feet and flung forward, Bobby could only loosen his grip on Dean and try to avoid landing on top of the hunter. As it was, Bobby hit the ground in an uncontrolled belly flop, with Dean tumbling out of his grip, and coming to rest on his side. The impact of Bobby's swan dive knocked all awareness out of him, leaving him face down, arms and legs spread-eagled, pretty much looking like a pinned specimen moth. Inside the factory building, the chaos continued, the pitch of the ear splitting screech rising and falling, but not yet quelling.

The whirlwind of gritty particles rasped and stung flesh, acting like a sand storm in the desert. It was impossible for Sam to see through it, and he was spluttering and choking, each inward breath depositing more dust and dirt in to his lungs and trachea. He would have been completely disorientated, were it not for the small, strong hand that tightly gripped his, somehow keeping him grounded in the midst of what _surely_ must be Hell, come to take over the mortal plain? The horrifying keening and the desperate wailing emanating from the creature targeted without let up by himself and Ruby served to increase Sam's determination. Despite the innumerable pin-pricks of pain, and grit that felt like rough sandpaper on bare flesh, despite the strength and the blast of the monstrous swirling winds; Sam's white light of power continued to combine with Ruby's red, cutting through everything else, delivering blow after blow on Hell's creature, until the thing could finally absorb no more.

The end was abrupt, with everything ceasing in unison. The mind numbing screeching cut off, as if a switch had been flicked. The hurricane winds simply dropped, and there was a sound like rain falling as everything that the winds had lifted and carried along with them, fell in sheets back to ground, revealing the burnt out remnants of a fire, and nothing else. There was nothing else what-so-ever to indicate that either the creature that was the higher daemon, or the two bounty hunters, had ever left Hell or set so much as one clawed toe topside. Once the dirt and grime had settled, it was the total quiet that now deafened.

Side by side, both Sam and Ruby stood motionless. Sam stared unblinkingly at the scorched area of floor where the bounty hunters had lit their fire. It was Ruby, shaking her hand out of his, which broke Sam's stupor. He turned to Ruby where she stood, attempting to make some sense of her windswept hair in a surreally normal, everyday female way. All evidence of who, what she really was, and what she was capable of, gone. Put back in the toy box.

"Is it dead? Did we kill it?"

Ruby paused in the middle of finger combing her hair and laughed.

"Sugar, it'd take _way_ more juice than _you, _my sweet assed sidekick, can produce to finish _that_ one. No...We've hurt him, might've hurt him bad, persuaded him to back off, made it crystal he's not welcome top side. But, that's _all_ we've achieved here I'm afraid baby. You'll just have to hope it's been enough!"

"You sound like you know that thing."

Ruby winked.

"I know _of_ him. Nobody with a brain cell to call their own, would look to be in the position to _get_ to know him, _believe_ me Tootles!"

"So...Who _is_ he?"

Ruby grinned and shook her head.

"Ask your big brother. Assumin' of course he's still alive? It's time for me to get lost, I'm stayin' in tonight to wash my hair, then I'm goin' into hiding. I figure it's the best thing I can do after tonight's little party. Give me a ring if you need...well..._Anythin_'...You know?"

Ruby was gone before Sam could respond. Her mention of Dean, however, served to remind Sam of his reason for being there. Appalled at having lost sight of his purpose whilst his mind tried to process what he and Ruby had just accomplished, Sam rapidly did a visual scan of the area, looking for Dean or Bobby. The sound of Bobby, frantically calling his name, triggered his sprint for the exit.

A thoroughly dust coated Bobby took a quick stride towards Sam as he exited the factory.

"_Sam lad_! Gods, I thought ... Aw, Hell with it."

Sam found himself pulled into a fierce hug by the older man, who then stepped back to cast a critical eye over Sam.

"You really need a shower boy...You alright?"

With a smile, Sam nodded.

"I'm fine Bobby. Really. Dean?"

Bobby's expression became serious as he stepped to one side, giving Sam his first sight of his brother laying quietly on the ground, Bobby's over shirt acting as a makeshift pillow under Dean's head.

"He's not doin' so good Sammy. I've done what I could, think I've managed to stop the bleedin', but he needs more than a few home done stitches an' I'm worried about his breathin'. Your call, but my money's on a hospital trip."

Bobby watched as Sam went to kneel at his brother's side and trail one finger over Dean's cheek.

"Dean? You hearin' me Dean? C'mon bro. Gimme a sign."

There was a small movement from one of Dean's arms and, as Sam watched, Dean's hand curled up into a loose fist, his middle finger staying raised. Sam coughed a short laugh.

"Not really the sign I was lookin' for, but it'll do ... Dean? Bobby thinks you need a hospital, an' I'm not gonna disagree. Ok? You kinda look like shit, an' you sound even worse."

Dean's eyes slitted open and drifted around, until he found Sam. Blinking heavily, Dean gazed up at his younger brother, green eyes struggling to focus. When he spoke, his voice was a breathy whisper, his words punctuated by his ragged, wheezing attempts to breathe.

"_You ... shit ... too_."

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	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Bobby drove as quickly as he dared, mindful of Dean's injuries, trying not to jolt the young hunter around. Dean himself lay in the back of the Impala, his head in Sam's lap, raised up in an attempt to help ease Dean's breathing. His eyes were closed and he made no sound, other than the rasping, whistle of each shallow breath he took. Bobby glanced at Sam through the driver's mirror. The boy had that distant look in his eyes that Bobby had become so familiar with during the time the two boys had been staying at his place. Bobby cleared his throat, dragging Sam back from whatever thoughts he was having.

"So...er...I'm thinkin' I saw someone else inside that factory with you, you know? When you were facing off against that oversized lizard...?"

Sam briefly met Bobby's eyes in the mirror, before lowering his head and focusing on Dean's face. Bobby waited, not wanting to push Sam too hard. Eventually Sam's hushed voice answered.

"Yeah. Yeah, there was someone. I asked for their help, and they came. No way I could've taken that thing down on my own, I had no other choice."

Bobby tread carefully, his eyes on the road, his tone neutral.

"I can accept that. So, who was it helped us out back there?"

There was another silent pause before Sam answered.

"Ruby."

There was only the very slightest weave in the Impala's direction in reaction to the news, but Sam didn'tmiss how Bobby's eyebrows arched at the revelation.

"Ruby? That dark haired demon girl? _She_ was who you called?"

Sam's tone became slightly defensive.

"Yeah. Seems I was right to do it too. We only survived 'cos of her, She was happy to help us out. She's not like the others Bobby, really."

"So, I briefly saw the power she was throwin' at that thing, what was _your_ part?"

"Not very much. I was just standing at the side of her repeating a banishing spell over n' over, givin' her some backup. She said it helped, so..."

"She'd have no call to lie about it...You should be proud of what you did Sam. It was a brave thing, to face that ugly son-of-a-bitch. You can tell the female _thanks_ from me, you know, if you happen to speak to or see her again."

Sam raised his head again to look over to the driver's mirror, and gave Bobby a small, grateful, smile.

"Thanks, Bobby. I'll make sure to do that. Just, Bobby? Dean doesn't need to know, he wouldn't accept he was worth me contacting her. If he asks, I _swear_ I'll tell him. Ok?"

"I'm not sure it the right thing to do lad but, I'll trust you, I'll go with it, _for now_. Best I can offer."

"I understand...Bobby, there's something else ... She knew who that fugly was. Wouldn't tell me though, said I should ask Dean. She sounded pretty certain _he_ would know the thing, I'm guessin' from his time in Hell."

Bobby simply nodded and continued to drive in silence, his thoughts now focused on exactly _how_ Dean might have come across that monster, and Bobby not liking where his thoughts were going in terms of a possible answer.

Dean had some colour back in his face, courtesy of the surgery to repair the small puncture in his lung and the tear to his large intestine. The four lots of blood had also helped. The generous amounts of bruising covering large parts of his back and abdomen were tender and sore at times, making it hard for Dean to find a comfortable position to lie or sit in. The long slash down his forearm was now a not so pretty line of black sutures. His consultant told Dean he had been lucky. Red...or Caltorr...whether intentionally or not, hadn't sliced through the artery. And the knocks to the back of Dean's head which, for a while, had left him gazing in a strangely cross-eyed fashion at the world were, to the medic's satisfaction, causing no secondary problems. A nasal cannular fed him the standard level of oxygen and, most importantly as far as Dean was concerned, an IV cannular linked him up to his _"magic box"_ of self administered, though monitored, doses of Morphine.

There was even a hot nurse. The problem being, she wasn't his. Dean only caught occasional glimpses of her as she walked, business like, _past_ his room in one direction or the other. Of course, Dean had tried moaning gloriously as she past, hoping to divert her attention, sadly his strategy had yet to succeed and it had simply resulted in his own short, round, and _way_ too experienced to be fooled by the likes of Dean Singer, nurse to casually stroll into his room, lean up against the door frame and say "Well?" Dean liked her, a lot. He just wasn't about to admit it out loud, instead whining things like, "Not you again...I want the hot one!"

Earlier that morning however, his nurse had _finally_ put the fear of God up him when, after his usual whinge about wanting the hot nurse, his own nurse had sashayed..._sashayed_...across and bent down, murmuring in his ear in an adopted husky tone "Baby boy, forget her...When you get to know _me_...I'm _blistering_!" Dean's terrified expression had her laughing her way out of his room. The very next time the hot nurse walked past, she actually turned to look at Dean, and immediately burst into giggles as she carried on by.

When Sam arrived a short time afterwards, Dean was still hovering between enjoying a good sulk, and reassuring himself that his nurse had simply been winding him up. Sam's arrival came, therefore, as a relief.

"At last! Get in here and close the damn door. You're late. Where've you been? Where's Bobby?"

Closing the door as Dean asked, Sam frowned at his brother.

"Ok, what is it? What's wrong?"

Realising that he had babbled and triggered his brother's worry bone, Dean took a mental grip of himself, his expression morphing into one of puzzlement.

"Nothin's wrong. I expected you sooner that's all, an' Bobby generally comes with. Did you remember breakfast?"

Sam gave Dean a hard look, but Dean's confused and expectant expression remained steady. Sam finally broke eye contact with a shrug.

"I thought he looked tired, so I persuaded him to take the morning off. He'll be along later this afternoon, and no, I thought I'd order us both one from the canteen, we can do breakfast together."

"Good idea...You know Sam, Bobby's not the only one looking worn out. Maybe_ you_ need some time off too? They're only keepin' me prisoner another couple of days an,' honestly? I don't need the _both_ of you sittin' around with me at the same time. Ok?"

Sam dragged a small, grey plastic hospital chair to the side of Dean's bed and sat himself down. Looking at his brother, Sam drew a deep breath.

"Dean...I also _asked_ Bobby not to come this morning 'cos I ...We... need to talk."

Dean frowned, not liking how serious Sam sounded, and pretty damn certain that he didn't fancy a whole heap of crap to land when he was still stuck in hospital. It made taking any necessary action all the harder to accomplish.

"We do? You sure? Can it wait till I'm out?"

Dean liked this situation even less when Sam switched his gaze and began staring across at the window. He knew Sam's tells all too well, whatever was on Sam's mind, it didn't promise to be a fun conversation. Dean sighed.

"Sam?...Sammy? Look, whatever it is, can't you just get it over with, please?"

Sam took a second deep breath and flicked his focus back on to Dean.

"Did you know that thing the jerkoff twins summoned?"

The question took Dean by surprise and left his mouth opened and closed soundlessly a couple of times before he re-gathered.

"What the _Hell _makes you think I might've known it? Obviously the answer's _no_! No, of _course_ I didn't know the giant freakoid. So now, _you_ tell _me _why you're askin' such a fuckin' _stupid_ question?..._Well_?"

Sam bowed his head again.

"I'm not sure...Ok...That daemon was a massive, high level fugly. So, you need to know...It took more than me just chanting a banishing ritual to get rid..."

Dean butted in.

"Sammy...I already know."

Sam's head jerked up and he stared at his brother.

"You do?"

"Doesn't take a genius to figure something like that needed something with more oomph to send it back home. I'd guessed your inner superpower thingy somehow got in on the act, an' that's ok Sam. It's not your fault, you don't have control over it. Really, we're lucky it flared up when it did, more than likely it boosted the banishing spell a few notches, enough to make it work. Right?"

Sam gave Dean an appraising look.

"Yeah. It did. But there was a bit more to it. When my..._power... _joined in, _that's _when I got the strong feelin' you knew who the thing was..."

Dean crossed his arms, making him look like an obstinate five year old. He was rapidly becoming uncomfortable and annoyed.

"Well, I already told you, I _didn't_. That good enough for you?"

"Yes...If you're sure?"

That did it.

"For Chrissake Sam, I _told_ you already, I'm_ sure_! So...We done here? 'Cos, like I said, I don't need you sittin' here all day. If it's all the same, _I'd_ like to have chance to catch up on some sleep now."

Sam looked at the impassive expression on Dean's face, Nodding, he stood up from the chair.

"Of course ... Do you want me to come back later?"

"Tell you what, do me a favour, stay away for the rest of today, ok Sam? And you can tell Bobby to give it a miss as well. Maybe we _all_ need a break?"

Sam briefly considered protesting, but, if he was being honest with himself, the time apart sounded good. So, he simply nodded.

"Ok Dean. I understand. I'll ring the ward later if I don't hear from you first, see how you are."

"Sam, I'll be fine. I will. _Please_, just go. I'll see you tomorrow sometime."

For a long while after Sam had gone, Dean lay on his back, simply staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out, what had _really_ made Sam ask whether he knew who the higher daemon was? In truth, Dean had _immediately_ recognised the creature and, therefore, who had offered the bounty for his capture and return to Hell, but that was something Sam simply _didn't_ need to know.

Closing his eyes, Dean whispered the name he feared above all others.

"_Alistair_."

**FIN**

_Oh, look, here's my stop now...Bye bye. Chick x_


End file.
